Anymore
by thekindofbroken
Summary: "Second star to the right, and straight on 'til morning," Wendy whispers to herself, her hand pressed to the glass of her bedroom window. She can see exactly what Peter had showed her that night. She's never been able to forget it. If one thing in her memory stays fixed, immobile, it is those words. Everything else has become hazy. But these words? They call to her.
1. Chapter 1

**After**

"_Take me home."_

Memory is a tricky thing. There are some days that stand out for no reason. You remember everything from the color of the sky, to the smell of fresh apples on the breeze, to the texture of the ground beneath your feet. And nothing happened on that day. Other days, days that should be important, that should stand out with every vivid glorious detail, fade into a haze of uncertainty.

The truest memories are the ones which have never been told, never been relived. This is because they remain untouched. Each time a memory is recounted, it shifts, if only slightly, and years later, you can end up with something completely different. These distant, beautiful, and constantly relived memories become something almost magical. They are a dream.

This is how Wendy remembers Neverland. She's been back there a hundred million times in her mind and now she can hardly remember if it really exists at all. Three years has given her plenty of time to corrupt her memories of Neverland and they boy she left there. And while, practical as always, Wendy knows this, she can't help but wonder.

Growing up hasn't been much like she'd thought it would be. It's all very civilized, that's true, but it _is_ rather boring and Wendy can't help but feel like she's lost something. Despite her mother's valiant attempts at finding Wendy proper suitors, she simply lacks interest. Grown up boys, or young men, as her mother likes to call them, are _especially_ boring, though she must admit they're very clean and polite.

She's not entirely sure what it is that's failing to live up to her expectations, but there is certainly _something_ missing. Sometimes, when she wakes from her dreams of Neverland, some secret part of her wonders if _that's _what she's missing. But then she thinks about it and decides it would be a lie if she said she thought she made the wrong decision to come back. Wendy knows, deep in her heart, she's meant to grow older than the 13 year old girl she had been when Peter had begged her to stay. She wants to be a mother. She wants to be married. She is only struggling with some crucial step to getting there.

Still, that doesn't stop the dreams.

* * *

**Then**

She's never seen eyes quite like his, that's the first thing she thinks, before registering the entire situation: that there's a boy sitting on the ledge outside her window. He looks perfectly comfortable, perched high off the ground, watching her watch him.

She finds herself with her fingers fumbling to open the window latch before she stops to think. _There is a strange boy siting on the ledge outside her window._ She hesitates, but then decides that, however he got there, she'll have to let him in for him to leave. The only good way down from that ledge is falling. So she opens the window.

Quick as a shadow, he's slipped inside, not even giving her a moment to speak. He's grinning from ear to ear, all tanned skin and tousled gold hair. She's thirteen, and quite aware that he's pleasant to look at, though much too shy to admit that to anyone. And pleasant or not, he certainly has no manners.

"Who are you?" she asks, unsure of herself and more unsure of him.

"Who are _you_?" he shoots back.

"This is _my _house," she insists, affronted by this arrogant little boy.

He stares at her, not saying anything at all.

"I'm Wendy," she gives in, finally. He grins triumphantly, looking for all the world like he thinks he's just achieved some greatness.

"Who are you?" Wendy prompts, as he seems to have forgotten all about the question, hanging in the air.

"I'm Peter Pan!" he announces, looking extremely proud of himself.

Wendy wrinkles her nose. "That's a peculiar name."

Annoyance flicks over Peter's face, and he sticks his tongue out at her. "Well, what's a Wendy!? That sounds like a silly name to me!"

"I didn't say your name was silly, I said it was peculiar."

Peter crosses his arms over his chest. "You're no fun. You sound like a grown up!"

"I am _not_ a grown up!" Wendy protests, suddenly as annoyed as Peter. Growing up is something of a sensitive subject for her, at the moment.

The smile is back on Peter's face in a flash. All irritation forgotten. "Then let's go! Come on, we're wasting time!"

"Go?" Wendy asks, confused and undeniably intrigued at the same time. "Go where?"

"To Neverland, of course!"


	2. Chapter 2

**Then**

"_Take me home."_

Wendy isn't certain where the mysterious boy who's invaded her bedroom came from. He seems to be going on about fairies and pirates and indians and all sorts of adventures that apparently take place in his home, which he calls Neverland. She finds all his talk rather overwhelming.

Not to mention, his wardrobe is amazingly strange. He's clad in leaves, which really isn't clothing at all.

"Wendy, are you listening?!" Peter's voice is suddenly sharp and demanding.

"Yes, but Peter, I don't understand. How do you get to Neverland?"

He laughs, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Why, that's the best part! You have to fly!"

"Fly?" Wendy echos, sure she's heard him wrong.

"Of course!"

"That's im-" her protest is cut off abruptly by Peter's hand clamping around her mouth.

"Don't say that!" He says, urgently. "You _can_ fly! But you have to believe it!"

Wendy is unable to answer him, as his hand is still pressed tightly over her lips.

"Do you understand? You have to believe it."

Wendy nods against his hand, more to get him to release her than anything else. He does, stepping back and regarding her suspiciously.

"How do you fly?" Wendy asks, expecting it will distract him. It does.

"Oh, it's easy!" Peter says. "Well, at least, for _me_." He grins a self satisfied grin.

"Can you show me?"

"Of course I can!" Peter leaps upwards at once and... he keeps rising, up, up, to lie back against her ceiling, hands behind his head, and sheer delight in his face as he takes in her completely awed expression.

Wendy is stunned. She hadn't expected him to actually do it, but he is. He's _flying_. And at once, her brain is alight with possibilities in a way that only a child's mind can be. If he's telling the truth about that, is he telling the truth about everything?

"Peter? How do I get to Neverland? How do I find it?" Wendy asks, breathlessly. Laughing, Peter swoops low, right past her, and out her open window, hovering just outside. Wendy scrambles over to stand in front of the open glass.

Peter is pointing. "See that? Second star to the right and straight on 'til morning."

* * *

**After**

"Second star to the right, and straight on 'til morning," Wendy whispers to herself, her hand pressed to the glass of her bedroom window. She can see exactly what Peter had showed her that night. She's never been able to forget it. If one thing in her memory stays fixed, immobile, it is those words. Everything else has become hazy, images that are too bright, Peter's face, too perfect. But these words? They are the same as always. They call to her.

With her free hand, she fingers the chain around her neck. It holds a solution, something she's never dared to pursue. One day, she tells herself. One day more and perhaps the memories that plague her will fade. Still she keeps it close.

Wendy's hand is becoming achingly cold from where it touches the glass pane of her window, but she leaves it there, wishing for something, something secret that she knows she shouldn't want. She stays there, deep into the night, her head bobbing with sleep, waiting for something she doesn't believe will come. Before the first rays of light touch the sky, her head drops to her chest and her hand slips from the window, red and burning from it's encounter with the cold glass.

She visits her dream Neverland, always a shadow of the real place. Peter isn't there. She wanders the beaches and hikes through the forest, but he's not anywhere. He escapes her, even in sleep. He's never let anyone pin him down, not even in dreams. In some ways, these nightly visits to her memories are painful. Some things in life only happen once. She might even consider them nightmares, except for one single thing. In her dreams, she flies.

It's the cold that wakes her. The house is drafty in the winter, and she's not dressed to handle it, in her thin nightgown and bare feet. She wakes shivering, disappointed and relieved to leave her dreams behind. It's over. It's been over for years. Early morning, gray winter light filters through her window, reminding her that she is very solidly in England. There's nothing magical about her world and that's precisely how it should be. Magic is a fickle thing. You can't hold onto it.

Wendy gets stiffly to her feet and turns away from her window to a fresh day. Every day is a new chance, an opportunity to leave Neverland behind in her heart, instead of just physically. She's done with that now. Even so, Wendy can't help but to cast one last look at the window, some deep, childish part of her hoping. Had she opened it, undone the latch and let the cold morning air sting her cheeks, she might have seen it, left on the roof just under her window, one brilliant, red cardinal feather.


	3. Chapter 3

**Then**

"_I was drunk again, causing accidents." _

She's a curious creature, Peter thinks. A wonderful distraction. He needs a lot of those. None of them last very long. He's a selfish creature and, in being so, doesn't care at all. He changes moods like other people change clothes. He's magic and magic is a fickle thing. You can't hold onto it. And no one can hold onto Peter Pan. Of course, he doesn't hold onto anyone either. It's not in his nature.

The girl is alternately tentative and bold from moment to moment. He likes that. She's changeable too. She's a surprise. It's not easy to surprise him, so he finds it refreshing. She gives him her full attention too, in a way that makes every moment like putting on a show. He becomes the absolute center of her world. He loves that. He loves knowing that someone is watching.

There are other things about her, though, things he's not so certain he likes. In her bolder moments, she disagrees with him. He's not accustomed to, or very well equipped to deal with argument. He hasn't encountered it much. But she seems to have no problem arguing and it drives him mad. Also, sometimes she looks at him with eyes that seem so grown up, that he's almost afraid, or he would be if Peter Pan was afraid of anything. She's a child, but she's leaving it behind. Seeing this change disturbs him. She's in Neverland. She's supposed to stay young.

Mostly, though, Peter can't stand the way he's come to want her around. He's never really cared who comes and goes. He's never cared what they call themselves or what they do as long as they worship him and do as he says. She's different. He finds himself unnaturally pleased when she agrees with him. He wants her with him, at his side, as much as he can manage. Truth be told, he's fascinated by her, fascinated with the way she both invigorates and infuriates him. But he doesn't _care_ about her. Peter Pan doesn't care about people. He's a selfish little boy who will never grow up.

* * *

**After**

He sits outside her window, aching in a way he hadn't known was possible until Wendy left Neverland. It's insufferable, this ache in his throat and his chest and his stomach or wherever the hell it is. Somehow, whenever he tries to pinpoint it, it seems to be everywhere at once.

She hasn't been to the window in weeks. She hasn't unlatched it in three years, since she'd come home. On the nights she sits in the window, Peter hides in the shadows. He doesn't want her to see. He doesn't want her to know. He's not supposed to miss her. He was never supposed to miss her.

Sometimes, she presses her hand to the glass, like she thinks she might melt through. He closes his eyes and prays she'll unlatch it, like an invitation, but she never does. As the days grow shorter, her nightly visits to the window grow less frequent. Peter tries to tell himself that it's the biting cold that keeps her away, but he doesn't believe it. It certainly doesn't affect his visits.

In the time that he's been visiting her secretly, he's seen the change in her. She's becoming decidedly less and less of a girl and more and more of a woman. She's different, and she's the same. Peter doesn't understand how they both can be true, but they are. He can't help but notice that lately she seems less and less vibrant, less happy. He wonders what has caused this, but he has no way of knowing. All he has is glimpses of her sitting in her window. It's not nearly enough.


	4. Chapter 4

**Then**

"_So, you're not a friend. No, you're nothing."_

There's nothing in any world quite like flying. Peter knows, deep in the core of his being, that he's built for flight. He's a creature of change, of wind, of storms. He's tempestuous and vibrant and absolutely uncontainable.

He loves the feeling, this wild, reckless, brilliance. He's everything. And no one can ever change that. But lately he's different. There's something different. Some small part of him feels tethered to the girl and he doesn't know why. He doesn't understand it. He tells himself it doesn't matter. He changes all the time. In a few days, it will be gone. He'll feel something else, want something else.

But now, now he wants her and he's never been able to deny himself anything. Peter doesn't understand self restraint. He wants her, yet, something about her... it's not that it scares him, nothing scares him. It bothers him. It gets under his skin. She's like an itch, an itch he can't scratch.

She doesn't listen to his demands the way the lost boys do. She doesn't act like he's the best thing to ever walk or fly through Neverland. She doesn't idolize him, but still... The way she looks at him sometimes, it's different from the way anyone else has ever looked at him. It makes him shiver. It makes his stomach twist. It's beautiful and terrible. It makes him want to run away. It makes him want to never let her go.

He chooses to run from it, the way he runs from everything that confuses or upsets him. He denies it. He waits for something inside him to change. It doesn't. It goes on and on. It hurts. It's perfect. He thinks there's something wrong with him. And when she says she wants to go home... An ache rises in his throat, in his chest, in his stomach, everywhere at once. It's insufferable. He has no idea, at the time, that for someone as capricious as he is, it will last for years. It will last until she opens her window.

* * *

**After**

The days grow colder. They get shorter. It rains. It snows. He hides in the shadows and shivers. He doesn't see her. She doesn't come to the window anymore, much less unlatch it. He thinks the ache will dull, but it only grows, goes on. He promises himself he'll stay away. He doesn't.

He's different. He's not what he's always been and he pretends he doesn't know it. He's a fabulous actor. Even so, he knows that Neverland can't be fooled. His world changes with him. He pretends he doesn't notice. Everyone else pretends with him.

_Dreams do come true, if only we wish hard enough. You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it._ Peter tries to hold onto the words, but they don't seem right anymore. He doesn't believe them, because she doesn't come to the window.

The days grow warmer. They get longer. The nights are short and, though he doesn't understand why, that makes them less bearable. If only he had more time.

The night she appears in the window, he almost can't believe it. She hasn't been there for months. And there she is, just sitting, like it's the most natural thing in the world and not what he's been waiting for every night in the dark. She traces an invisible pattern on the glass with the tip of her finger. Her other hand is clutching something on a chain at her neck. He's seen her toy with the necklace a thousand times.

He thinks he might be dreaming. He finds himself leaning forward, wanting to get a better look at her, trying to burn this image in his memory, something that can sustain him when she inevitably disappears again. Her hand flashes up, pale against the dark of the room. Her window swings open.

Peter finds himself frozen, his heart in his throat. The window is open. Wendy leans on the windowsill, hair lifted by the warm, late spring breeze. She's staring out at the sky, like she can see something out there that's lost to other people. And he's frozen. He can't breathe. He can't speak. He can't move.

They stay like that for a long time, Wendy gazing at the sky like it holds something magnificent, and Peter gazing at her, lost to the world. It's not until she moves to shut the window that the spell is broken. As she reaches for it, he's suddenly panicked. He's not ready to lose her. He hasn't had enough time.

Before he can think about it, he's out of the shadows, across the distance, and catching the edge of the window, just in time. She's staring at him, one hand on the window, which she'd almost managed to close before he got there. Her eyes are shocked, then confused. He thinks, for one terrible moment, that she doesn't know him. She's forgotten. He's no one.

"Peter." It's so soft, almost a breath rather than a word. But it's his name, falling from her lips. His hand drops from the window and he suddenly understands what he's done. He's made a mistake. She was never supposed to know he was there. She was never supposed to see.

"Peter?" Her voice is tentative, but stronger this time. It's like being punched in the throat. He can't breathe. It makes him shiver. It makes his stomach twist. It's beautiful and terrible. It makes him want to run away. It makes him want to never let her go.

He chooses to run from it. That's who he is. He backs away, hating himself, even as he does so, but can't be here. He was never supposed to be here. It's a mistake.

"Peter."

It freezes him for another moment. There are things at war inside him that he doesn't understand. He's farther away from her now, but he can see her watching him. She's waiting for something, for him to say something, but he can't. He closes his eyes. He takes a breath. And then he turns away and is gone.


	5. Chapter 5

**Then**

"_I think I should be a little more confident in myself, in my skin."_

She's in love with Neverland. She's in love with the boy who brought her there. She knows this, but it doesn't make a difference. She has to go home. She has a life to live. She has things she wants. She has to leave him behind. He's never going to be able to give her what she wants. He's never going to grow older. He's never going to have children. He's never going to even understand love. It's a hard pill to swallow, but Wendy Darling is nothing if she's not strong. She can handle it. Or so she tells herself. Saying she has to leave and actually doing it are two entirely different things.

Neverland is a dream world. But it's not her dream; it's his. And she's beginning to understand that they want very different things. He wants to stay a child. He wants to rule a kingdom. She wants her life. And she wants him. She can't have both. And, if he gets what he wants, she could never really have him anyhow. There's not even a decision to make.

She knows he's angry with her, but he'll get over it. He's fickle. As much as it hurts, she has to admit that she's just a passing moment for him. He'd tire of her soon, anyway. He's just upset she made the decision first.

It's for the best that she leaves him. He'll only break her heart if she stays. And still, she can't help but wish for more time. She's not sure she's ready to return to her world of gray. But it's now or never, so she goes. He promises he won't forget, but she doesn't believe him. Peter is wayward. He'll forget. Something else will catch his fancy and she'll be nothing more than a ghost.

She can't even begin to imagine how wrong she is.

* * *

**After**

She's half convinced he was a dream, something made up sheerly from wanting it so much. It's been a week and she hasn't seen him again, though she sits with her window open every night until she falls asleep. Maybe he hadn't been there at all, she begins to think.

He was different, different in probably the most shocking way possible. Because the Peter who had appeared for a few aching moments hadn't been a little boy. He'd been a young man, nearly grown. He must have been a figment of her imagination. Peter would never grow up.

Still, she opens her window. She waits. She hopes, desperately and foolishly, she hopes, but she can't help herself. She needs to know. It's exhausting. She's been so good. All winter, she'd pretended that she couldn't see the star, his star. She'd refused to let herself look. But with the spring, her longing had grown and she'd gone to the window. She'd never expected Peter to appear. She'd believed herself long forgotten.

She's not surprised he ran. She's not surprised she hasn't seen him since. But she wishes for it. She refuses to give up. Even after she nods off in the window seat, and wakes to drag herself to bed, she leaves the window open. She wonders if he's watching. She wonders if he sees.

It's well into summer when she starts to lose hope. She doesn't believe he'll come back, but she can't stop sitting in her open window. She has a stubborn streak. Still, it's taking its toll on her. She hasn't slept properly in weeks.

She doesn't even know she's nodded off until she jerks awake, neck sore from her uncomfortable position. Her heart stops. Peter is sitting just outside the window. She hadn't dreamed him. She hadn't dreamed any of it.

They stay absolutely still, just looking at each other. She refuses to move an inch. She doesn't want him to run. His eyes are the most familiar thing about him, still that intense, stormy blue gray. The rest of him is different. He's grown into almost a man. He used to be all skin and bone. Now, he's all muscle. His jawline is sharper and rough with stubble. If anything, his hair is bleached even lighter by the sun. Even his clothes are different. Somewhere along the way, he'd discarded the leaves, exchanged them for what appeared to be indian made deerskin pants, though he still opted out of a shirt. She can't say she minds.

Peter moves. It's just a millimeter, but she sees him lean in, just slightly, like he might come in the window. She holds her breath, doesn't move. Slowly, ever so slowly, he inches forward, slipping into the room. It might take minutes. It might take hours. In the end, he's sitting opposite her on the window seat, just barely inside.

It's silent, but it's full. He just keeps looking at her, so she just keeps looking at him. She doesn't know how long they can go on like this. She doesn't know what he wants. She doesn't know why he's here. She doesn't know why he's grown up. But he's here and she's not taking her eyes off of him for an instant.

His fingers stretch forward. It's almost like a dream. He moves slowly, with an intensity she's seen him put into everything he does. She holds her breath, waiting. He's not the type to make physical contact first. He's never even seemed to want anyone to touch him at all. He's always balked from it, except for that one night, that gentle press of lips. The tips of his fingers make contact with her cheek.

"You're real." The words slip past her lips. She couldn't help herself any longer.

He pulls his hand back immediately. His eyes are conflicted, confused. "I don't... I shouldn't be here." He's up in a flash, almost out the window, but she anticipates it. She grasps his wrist.

"Wait, don't go."

He freezes. His eyes go to where her hand is holding his wrist. They lift slowly to her.

"Please, don't go," she says softly.

He sits back down. She doesn't let go of his wrist.


	6. Chapter 6

**Then**

"_Take me, take me, home"_

Wendy leaves. He thinks he'll forget. But he can't and he doesn't know why.

* * *

**After**

The urge to run is unbearable. There's something in him screaming to go, but he's anchored, weighed down by the places where her skin touches his. The ache in his throat is gone, but he's left breathless. This might be worse.

"Peter?" Her voice is unbelievably painful to hear. It hurts him and he doesn't know why. There's something beautiful about it too. He doesn't answer her. He doesn't know if he can.

"Peter, what are you doing here?"

What is he doing here? She wasn't ever supposed to see him. He starts to rise again, but her fingers tighten and stops. He knows, instinctively, that she won't let him go without an explanation. He just doesn't think he has one to give her.

"I don't know," he answers, at last. His voice is quiet and a little rough from lack of use. He can't remember the last time he barked an order at one of the boys. He's been too busy waiting for her. But waiting for what? What happens now?

"I miss you," she tells him. It catches him off guard. She misses him. She _misses_ him. Not missed. Misses. He can only stare at her.

She blushes, slightly. "It's okay that you don't," she says quickly. "I always assumed you'd forget me."

"I didn't!" The words burst out of him, vehement, intense. "I never forgot you!"

She looks surprised by his outburst, and he regrets his tone, but then she smiles. He doesn't know exactly why she's smiling, but she's smiling at him. He feels suddenly very warm. His cheeks are hot.

"Peter, why did you run, the other night?"

He doesn't like questions. He doesn't analyze his own motivations. He doesn't want her to do it either. He hasn't thought about why he did it, he'd just done it.

"I don't know." He pulls slightly against her hold, but not enough to get away. Her fingers tighten. He can feel his pulse pounding against her skin.

"You would run now, too, if I let you."

It's not a question, but he answers anyway. "Yes."

"Why?"

"I don't know!" He can't help his voice, rising with his temper. He doesn't know. He just would. He just is. Self awareness is not Peter's strong suit. He does what he wants, when he wants, because he wants it. That's life.

Wendy is studying him intensely. He fidgets, wanting away from her gaze. What will she find there?

"You're different." Her words strike something deep and fearful in him. He's been pretending. He hasn't acknowledged it.

"I'm not!" He jerks away from her, breaking her grip on him and leaping to his feet. It would be so easy to slip away, now. Wendy stands up too, reaching for him, she catches hold, but he pulls back. His movements throw her off balance, stumbling. Instinctively, he catches her. His hands on her waist. Hers land on his shoulders.

She's suddenly in no danger of falling, but Peter finds himself alarmingly close. Her body is aligned with his. Her nightgown is thin and he can feel that she's all soft curves beneath. He closes his eyes and swallows, trying to breathe. He should move away, but he can't. She's frozen him here.

"Peter?" Her breath brushes across the skin at his collarbone. It sends a shiver through him.

"Peter, I want to go to Neverland." His eyes snap open. She's looking up at him through her lashes. He can't quite believe she's just said that. Had she really said that?

"Now," she adds. And he wants nothing more than to take her there. So he does. He doesn't think about it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Then**

"_'Cause I don't stand a chance in these four walls,"_

For the first year, she thinks she catches glimpses of him of everywhere, on the streets of London, in the theater, a shadow outside her window. But she knows this isn't true. Peter Pan has forgotten her as she always knew he would and she has returned to her life, the life she was meant to have.

Time to grow up.

* * *

**After**

She can't quite believe that any of this is real, that she'd really asked Peter to take her back to Neverland. She would think it all a dream, except for his hand is warm where their fingers are twined together and they're _flying_. She's dreamt it, but this is different. This is what she's been reaching for. Peter is different, that much is sure, though she has a feeling mentioning it again is not a good idea. She notices he has the smallest frown creasing his lips, but she doesn't try to talk to him. She doesn't want him to change his mind. Peter is nothing, if not changeable.

It's still dark when they arrive in Neverland, which Wendy didn't know was possible. "Second star to the right, and straight on 'til morning," right? But there's no light, save for that of the stars and the crescent moon, when her feet touch the ground. She wishes it were morning. She can't wait to see everything, to explore and discover the places she's dreamed her whole life.

The moment their feet brush the ground, Peter drops her hand like its burning him. He seems suddenly, distinctly agitated.

"Come on," he says, his voice so much lower than she remembered. A man's voice, not a boy's.

She follows him through the dark, tripping over tree branches and in holes until he's forced to take her hand again and guide her. Wendy can't remember if she was this clumsy as a child, or if Neverland senses her age and is rejecting her. She hopes it's the first. But some part of her wonders if her rejection wouldn't make all this easier. Because already, reality is creeping back in. She's been longing for this place, dying to see it and him, but nothing's changed. Not really. All too soon, she'll have to go home.

Peter doesn't take her to the tree he and the lost boys had lived in the last time she'd been here. Instead, they arrive at what appears to be a village strung between the trees. Several tree houses have been constructed, connected by swinging, wooden bridges.

Before she can think about it, Peter's pulled her up into the air, flying up to one of the huts, and pushing the door open. It's small and plain, but Wendy recognizes Peter's throne. He drops her hand again and, without looking at her, throws himself onto his bed in the corner, leaving her standing in the doorway.

For a moment, Wendy is stunned and hurt, but then she remembers. Peter Pan's moods change in an instant. He's not like the boys back home. She never forgot him, but she has forgotten things about him.

"Peter."

He huffs out a small sigh and rolls over to look at her, eyes wary.

"You're upset."

He shrugs, lips creasing down. "No."

Wendy takes a deep, steadying breath, and walks across the room, sinking slowly to sit next to him on the bed. His body tenses, then he edges slowly away from her, just a fraction of space, but enough to make a point.

"Do you wish you hadn't brought me?" The thought is painful, but Wendy can only imagine it is the thing bothering Peter. She hadn't thought about it beyond the moment, so Peter certainly hadn't either.

He shrugs. "It doesn't matter. You'll leave anyway." Peter Pan may look more like a man than a boy, but his words are those of a child.

"I-" Wendy stops herself. He's right. She can't stay here forever. She has no words to assuage his fears. Finally, she settles on something else. She rolls her eyes and prods him in the side, lightly. "Scoot over, then."

He glares at her, but does as he's told and Wendy lies down next to him. She knows this is technically very improper, no matter that Peter is pouting and she has no intention to do anything but sleep. Still, Wendy finds she doesn't care. This is Neverland, not England. Things are different here.

Wendy closes her eyes and lets herself drift towards sleep. She's spent so many nights awake, waiting, hoping, for Peter. And now he's here and she's sleeping. It's all very odd. Just before she loses all sense of the real world, Wendy finds Peter's hand in the dark, slides her fingers between his. This time, he doesn't let go.


	8. Chapter 8

**Then**

"_and he don't recognize me anymore."_

Her mother tells her William will be a lovely suitor, a perfect match. And, indeed, he's everything Wendy has imagined for herself: kind, handsome, clever, wealthy. William is a gentleman. William brings her flowers and says all the right things. For some reason, Wendy resents him for it. He is Prince Charming, right out of a fairytale.

The other girls cast her jealous glances when William asks her to dance, when he takes her for walks in the park, when he smiles at her in the theater. William will make a wonderful husband, an exemplary father. William will do everything that he is supposed to, everything that is ever expected of him.

Wendy wonders if she knows him at all. Does anyone, deep down, really want to be so absolutely utterly perfect, perfection to the point of dullness? But then, she had wanted to be that once. She had wanted that very much, until a boy who was the opposite of all those things had burst into her life. He had changed things, broken things. He had ruined everything. No matter how hard she tries, she cannot hate him for it.

* * *

**After**

She wakes to Peter standing over the bed grinning broadly and looking for all the world like the boy she had known years ago. She rubs the sleep out of her eyes, while he looks at her expectantly.

"Good morning?" she tries, hoping to prompt him into explanation.

"Are you going to stay in bed all day?" Peter asks, shifting from foot to foot with pent up energy.

"No." Wendy sits up, glancing down at her nightgown. She hadn't thought to bring something else, despite how much trouble it had caused her last time. It is another reminder that split second decisions have never seemed to pan out quite properly for her.

"Let's go," Peter says, hopping towards the door, glancing back at her with mischievous eyes.

"Go where?"

"Anywhere we want! I'm the king of Neverland, you know."

There he is, the boy she remembers, arrogant, pleased with himself, adventurous. She was wondering when he'd appear again. For a moment, she'd thought he was gone entirely, but looking at Peter now, despite the physical differences, he's just the same. It's hard to reconcile him with the boy who'd been sitting outside her window, looking at her with such sad eyes.

"Oh, fine." Wendy climbs out of bed and follows Peter out of the hut. She stops, frozen. In the night she hadn't been able to properly see the island, but now that the sun has risen, she discovers that it is not the Neverland she remembered. The trees are bare and a few appear to be dying. The ground is dusty and parched. The sun is blindingly hot, filtering through the empty trees.

Peter is several steps ahead of her, but he pauses when he realizes she's fallen behind.

"What happened here?" Wendy asks, shielding her eyes against the sun and looking out at the unfamiliar landscape.

Peter sobers instantly. "Nothing," he answers adamantly. His voice indicates the end of the conversation, but Wendy is not a lost boy and she's never done just as Peter likes.

"Why is it like this? Everything's dying."

"It's just a drought," Peter says fiercely. "It will get better." It sounds as if he's said the words a lot, and, while Wendy has promised to never give into him when he's being stubborn, she decides it's best to avoid the subject. She won't get an answer from Peter if he doesn't want to tell her.

"Fine. Can we go see the Indians?"

Peter wrinkles his nose, foul mood gone in an instant. "Why? You didn't even like Tigerlily."

That was true. "I was hoping they would have something else I could wear."

"Oh, alright." Peter makes a show of being irritated, but Wendy only finds this amusing, trying to hide her smile. She thinks Peter catches it and masks one of his own. It's almost enough to make her forget about the state of Neverland. Nothing, however, can distract her as she and Peter fly to the Indian encampment. The aerial sight of Neverland shows how expansive the damage is. The whole world has turned brown and dead. It's like the magic has seeped right out of the place. They arrive, touching down and sending up dust.

Peter speaks with an Indian momentarily, who disappears and returns shortly, holding out some clothes for Wendy and gesturing to a nearby tent. She ducks inside to change, glad to be rid of the night gown, though feeling inappropriately revealed in the top and skirt, which shows off much of her legs and midriff. Despite that, the clothes are much more comfortable. She appreciates the soft moccasins, most of all. Her feet aren't tough like Peter's.

When she slips back out of the tent, she finds Peter nowhere in sight, but the same Indian waiting for her.

"Chief wishes to speak with English girl," the Indian informs her, gesturing for her to follow. She does as she's told, though even she, could spot the Chief's massive tent on her own. The Indian leaves her outside, disappearing among the other tepees.

"The English girl is back, then?" The voice startles Wendy and she turns to see Tigerlily sitting cross legged under a nearby tree. She's just as beautiful as Wendy remembered, and she has also grown.

Wendy bites her lip. "Yes. For a bit, anyhow."

"Much has changed since you left," Tigerlily informs her, glancing sadly at the dead branches of the tree above her. This is her chance, she realizes, to ask someone other than Peter about the decaying world.

"What happened here, Tigerlily?" Wendy finds herself asking, gesturing at the dusty ground and dead trees.

Tigerlily regards her with solemn eyes for a long time before answering. "It may be hard for Peter Pan to truly feel, but what he does feel, he feels all the more deeply."

The words make little sense to Wendy, though, remembering the time Peter had forgotten who Tinker Bell was, she thinks she knows what Tiger Lily is referencing. All the same, she knows she misses the implication. What does this have to do with Peter's capacity for feelings?

Deciding not to try to broach the subject again, Wendy nods at Tigerlily and ducks into the tent, where the Chief waits for her.

It takes her eyes a moment to adjust to the low light, and Wendy finds the Chief sitting calmly at the back of the tent. He gestures for her to take a seat and she does, feeling nervous, but curious at the same time.

"So Pan's Wendy has returned to us."

Again, Wendy finds the statement uncomfortable. Do they all think she's here to stay? She hasn't made anyone any promises. She _can't_ stay. She really shouldn't have come at all, but Peter is so much harder to forget when he's just outside her window.

"Yes."

"You have questions." The Chief is regarding her with the same eyes that she'd just seen in Tigerlily's face. She hopes she gets better answers.

"Yes. What's happened here? Why is Neverland... dying?"

The Chief blinks slowly at her. "Neverland is a reflection of Peter Pan. It's physical state is what he causes it to be. He has not been happy for a very long time."

"_Peter_?" Wendy repeats. "That can't be right. Peter is always so frightfully pleased with himself."

"You have been gone a long time."

"I've just seen him. He's the same as he always was."

The Chief gives her a long, indecipherable look. "This is not true."

He's right, of course. Peter certainly looks different. He's growing. Is that what this whole fuss is about? Peter Pan is somehow, inexplicably, growing up?

"Is this because he's older? Is _that_ what's causing this to happen to Neverland?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Well, what is it, then? Why is he growing? How can he stop it?" Wendy asks, impatiently. The Chief is almost as tightlipped and mysterious as his daughter.

"Are you sure you want to know the answer? Peter himself does not know. Or, at least, I have not told him. He does not wish to know."

"Of course I want to know!"

The Chief gives her one last, long look. "You are the reason Peter Pan is growing up."

"Excuse me?" She can't possibly of heard him right. She's done nothing. She'd only gone home and lived the life she was supposed to live.

"He cannot help himself. Peter has always been young because that is what his heart desired more than anything in the world. When you left him to grow up, his heart couldn't allow you to leave him behind. He grows so as not to lose you."

This cannot be the answer. But somewhere, somehow, it makes sense. In the back of her mind, she can hear a voice, a voice saying something she'd almost forgotten. _"__Dreams do come true, if only we wish hard enough. You can have anything in life if you will sacrifice everything else for it."_ But this is wrong. Or rather, shortsighted. Maybe you can have _anything_ you want, but you certainly can never have _everything_. Wendy wants everything.

One question remains. "If he's growing, and that's what his heart wants, then why is Neverland like this?"

"Because what he _wants_ is you. He cannot have that, can he?"

"I-" Wendy bites her lip. She doesn't know the answer. She hadn't thought so, but something stops her from saying no. "I do not intend to stay," she says, finally.

"Then the "drought" as Peter likes to call it, will continue." The Chief's face is very serious. "Neverland cannot flourish while Peter Pan despairs."

"That's not fair!" Wendy is suddenly furious at this whole thing. "I didn't ask to be important! I didn't ask him to be miserable!"

"You cannot ask someone to choose whether or not to love you, English girl. Even you should know that." The words freeze the world. Love. She knows, logically, that the Chief has already implied Peter loves her, and yet... She hadn't really allowed herself to think the word. Peter can't love her. Peter doesn't love anything, except perhaps himself and Neverland. He certainly doesn't love her.

"I think you've made some sort of mistake," Wendy informs him.

"You know this is not true."

Wendy stands up. "I do not know that. I will find a way to fix Neverland if I can, but I can't stay. This isn't my world." Angry, Wendy turns on her heel and storms out of the tent, breathless. Peter is standing outside the tent. The moment he sees her, his eyebrows shoot up.

"You're angry."

"And you're miserable, apparently. We make a lovely pair," Wendy snaps at him, still fuming.

"What?" Peter's brow furrows like he's trying to work out whether she's just insulted him or not.

"Forget it. Let's just go somewhere else."

"Where?"

"I don't care. Just not here." Wendy wants to be as far away from Chief's accusations as possible, but they won't stop ringing in her head. Love. Love. Love.

Peter shrugs and takes her hand, pulling her into the sky.


	9. Chapter 9

**Then**

"_Burned out flames should never reignite,"_

It starts with a dry leaf here or there. It's hardly noticeable. After all, Neverland is a dream world, not a perfect one. But slowly, things begin to shift. He ignores it for a long time. But eventually the trees stand bare and the ground gathers dust. The boys look at him differently. They know this is his world. They know this is his fault.

But the ache in his throat is worse than no leaves on the trees, so he ignores the looks. He spends more and more time at her window. He tries to ignore his world crumbling around him. He tries to pretend it's only temporary. He deludes himself. He demands that same delusion of everyone. They indulge him. He's their king.

* * *

**After**

He'd made it halfway to Neverland, Wendy in tow, before it begins to sink in. She's only going to leave again. And how much of him will she take this time? Will there be any of him left? Or will he be left as only a shadow? This was a bad idea. This will only make things a million times worse. And still, with her hand pressed to his, he can't seem to help himself. But Wendy, she's poison, his weakness. She erodes him. Why doesn't he care?

Now, whisking her away from the Indian village, he wonders what Chief had told her to make her so furious. And she is furious. Peter is familiar with anger. He's familiar with most strong feelings. Or so he'd thought until he'd stopped Wendy from closing her window and he'd been set aflame with a whole set of emotions he has no name for and that are certainly not familiar.

He takes her to the mountains, tall and cool, and probably the least brown part of Neverland left. Some of the trees here even have leaves. It makes him sad when so few leaves seem like paradise. Neverland is his and yet he cannot seem to heal it. He doesn't understand why.

He releases her hand as soon as they land. Peter doesn't trust himself when he's touching Wendy. She messes up all the thoughts in his head and makes him do stupid things, or decidedly more stupid than he normally would, which is saying something.

Wendy finds a nearby boulder and sits, arms crossed across her chest. Peter stands. He feels he needs to be ready for anything Wendy might throw at him.

She looks up, suddenly. "Chief says Neverland is like this because you're unhappy."

The words scare him. He knows their truth, but he doesn't like to think about it. He doesn't like to think about the destruction of his home or his role in it. Peter has always avoided things that bother him.

"He says it's my fault."

The words stun him. Her fault? Why would Chief think this was Wendy's fault? He opens his mouth to ask something, but her words barrel forward, as if if she doesn't say it now, she never will.

"He says you're miserable because I left you. He says that's why you've grown up. So I wouldn't leave you behind."

Peter feels his gut twist. Grown up. He's not grown up. But he's not stupid either. He knows he's changed. He just chooses to pretend he hasn't. He will deny growing, no matter what Wendy says. Admitting it would ruin everything.

"He says you love me."

Peter stops breathing, the words reverberating is his head. _He says you love me. He says you love me. He says you-_

"Do you?" Wendy's question cuts off her last statement. Peter can do nothing but stare at her. It's like the world has suddenly collapsed in around him and he can't breathe. He can't think. She's looking at him with expectant eyes. Love? Peter doesn't care about anything, much less love it. He wants to scream at her, no. No, he doesn't love her. But his voice fails him. And suddenly he's reliving all those nights outside her window, waiting for her, dreaming of her, wishing it. But that's not love. He's never loved her.

Wendy stands up, moving towards him, closing the distance. Every fiber in his body is screaming at him to run, but he can't. He's rooted to the spot. She's just in front of him, so close he can feel the heat radiating from her body and he needs to move, he needs to get away. He stays put.

She looks up at him and it's a look he doesn't recognize. The anger is still there, but it's joined by something else. Is she still waiting for an answer? She's not going to get one. The one he wants to give her is stuck in his throat, so she won't get one at all.

But it doesn't seem to matter because she doesn't wait for one. Wendy raises up onto her tiptoes and leans in, lips brushing ever so gently across his. It is a moment from their past. It is now. It is everything.

The wall inside him breaks. And then there's nothing for it because he's kissing her back, intensely, furiously, with all the hurt that's been brewing inside him since she left, since she kissed him the first time. He feels wet on his cheeks and he doesn't know if he's crying or if she is, or maybe it's both of them. He doesn't know why.

When she pulls back, breathing hard, he gets a good look at her. Her lips are red and swollen and she's absolutely beautiful. She's stunning. And she's not his. She'll never be his. It is this truth that sends him backing away, out of her arms, out of her reach.

It is this truth that turns him away from her. It is with this truth pounding a tattoo into his heart that he leaves her there.


	10. Chapter 10

**Then**

"_but I thought you might..."_

Everything would be fine if it weren't for the dreams. He could forget if her memory would stop visiting him. A smile. A defiant look. The scent of her hair. The gentlest press of lips. How is he supposed to forget when these things remain? It's stupid. It's not fair.

It seeps into everyday. It becomes unbearable. Visiting dreams is painful. Waking up is worse. It grows, slowly, as he does. It consumes him.

He ends up at her window.

That first night, he's bold. He reaches for it, expecting it to be open. It's locked. He finds himself both stunned and hurt. Is she telling him not to visit? She'd asked him, practically begged him, not to forget, and he had more than obliged. He had remembered her too well.

From then on, he watches from a distance. He catches glimpses of her. She is different. She is just the same. He hates her for everything. He doesn't hate her at all.

* * *

**After**

He had run from her, but he can't escape her any more than he's been able to escape her memory all these years. The ache in his throat is back with a vengeance, but this time it's joined by a panic in his stomach. How does she do this to him? How does she ruin him with so little effort?

He finds his solace on the highest peak of Neverland in a cool and dark cave. Already, he feels guilt for abandoning her, but he cannot go back like this, with his cheeks flushed, his heart pounding, and his head spinning. He can't look at those eyes. He thinks if she were with him now, she would utterly destroy him. He doesn't know how to explain the feeling, only that his flight from her had been one of panicked, painful self preservation.

_He says you love me. Do you?_

"No," Peter whispers, hoarsely to himself. He can say it now. He doesn't love anything. Love is a grown up thing. And Peter Pan will never grow up.

_He says you love me. Do you?_

"**No**." But he can see the look on her face in the memory, in her eyes. Was she really asking him? Did he even need to answer? She'd kissed him before he could, so it was her own fault he hadn't had a chance to tell her no.

And then he'd kissed her back.

But that didn't mean he loved her. She should know that.

_He says you love me. Do you?_

"No." It's weaker this time. Barely a whisper. She's not here to hear it, anyway. He takes deep breaths. He tries to forget that she asked it. He tries to forget that he couldn't say the word he'd meant to. If only she'd given him some time, none of this would have happened. If only he hadn't stopped her from closing the window, she wouldn't even be here. But even as he thinks it, he can't find any regret, because Wendy was looking at him, Wendy was talking to him, Wendy was touching him.

_He says you love me. Do you?_

He doesn't answer the question ringing in his head this time. There's no point. He can scream an answer all he likes. Any answer. It doesn't change anything. It will never change anything.


	11. Chapter 11

**Then**

"_Take me, take me, home."_

She had always intended to open the vial that hung at the end of the chain around her neck. She'd always intended to swallow the tiny drop of potion inside, her one bit of magic in her dull, gray world. She'd always thought, just one more day.

She's almost done it a thousand times. She's never quite accomplished it. Wouldn't she be happier? Wasn't that why she'd begged the faeries for it in the first place? Wasn't it intended to fix everything, to fix her and her world?

The problem is, there's some intensely stubborn part of her that doesn't want to be fixed.

* * *

**After**

Peter leaves her breathless and crying. She's not sure why she's crying. She thinks he was crying too, but he'd left so fast she couldn't tell. She's not sure what she'd hoped to accomplish, demanding things from him, asking him questions, kissing him. But he'd kissed her back. And that had to mean something.

Maybe she's reading too much into things. Maybe she's seeing what she wants to see. Peter isn't like her. Peter isn't like anyone. His actions, his emotions, his words, they aren't the same. He doesn't perceive things the way a normal boy would.

_He grows so as not to lose you_.

But that doesn't make any sense. That's not who Peter is. Wendy brushes the tears from her face, takes a deep breath. She is strong. Neverland may be dying, but she refuses to go with it. Coming here had been a mistake. She'd been caught up in the moment. She'd acted foolishly. She's been fighting herself for years and she simply can't do it anymore. She steels herself.

Wendy gathers herself, wipes the last traces of tears from her cheeks, and begins to pick her way back across Neverland. She doesn't fly. She doesn't want to be a piece of Neverland and she doesn't want to indulge in any of its magical properties. It's broken her heart for the last time.

Despite her slow pace, despite trekking back to Peter's, she still arrives before him. She sits on the bed. She can wait. He'll come home eventually.

Wendy twists the little vial on the chain at her neck while she waits, so small, yet with the ability to change everything. She's made her decision. She's leaving Neverland behind, once and for all. She's going home.

He won't look at her when he finally does arrive. He stomps around avoiding her eyes and she watches him, sitting patiently on the bed. This could go on for hours, but she doesn't want to wait hours. It will be up to her, then, to break the silence.

"Peter."

He crosses his arms over his chest, and faces her, though he keeps his eyes averted.

"I want you to take me home."

She sees his fists tighten a little, the muscles in his body going taut. "Fine."

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come back here."

He meets her eyes then and his are hot and angry. "Then why did you?" She's hurt him, if only for a little while, and she's sorry for it. She's hurt herself too. This has all been her fault, but not for much longer. She's removing herself from the situation.

"Because I couldn't forget," she says, honestly. "But I was wrong to ask you to remember. We should forget. We should both forget."

"I don't want to forget," he snaps, petulant.

"Well, I do. And I'm going to." Wendy holds up the vial, uncorking it. No turning back now. "The fairies gave it to me. I think Tinkerbell was all too happy to do so. All I have to do is drink and the next time I wake up, Neverland is gone from my mind forever. I should have taken it a long time ago."

Peter is staring at the vial and she can't even begin to pick apart the expression on his face. This is it. This is the moment. She brings the vial to her lips, tilts her head back.

"Wendy, don't-"

But it's too late. She's already swallowed the tiny drop of liquid. She finds Peter only inches from her, reaching out, too late to stop her. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, backs away.

"Take me home, Peter."

He takes her hand, but he doesn't look at her again, not the whole way back to England.


	12. Chapter 12

**Then**

"_Now he's moving close,"_

One day, she's going to live in a big house with her handsome husband. She's going to raise her children. She'll be a good mother. They'll never want for anything. She will have everything a girl could ever dream of. And that's all she's ever wanted.

This is what she tells herself every night before she goes to bed. This what she tells herself when she can't stop thinking of Neverland.

* * *

**After**

By the time Peter pulls her window open and helps her inside, she's terribly sleepy. Still, she struggles to keep her eyes open as Peter helps her across the room and to her bed. Once she sleeps, he'll cease to exist for her. It seems impossible. She wants him to look at her, more than anything, one last glimpse before they lose each other forever, but he doesn't meet her eyes.

Wendy sinks into her bed, eyelids fluttering, losing the battle to stay awake. She's made her decision, she reminds herself. It's done. She closes her eyes.

For just a moment, she thinks she feels the softest, sweetest brush of lips against hers, feels a hot teardrop on her cheek. She thinks she hears the impossible.

"I was wrong. I _do_ love you, Wendy. And I'll never forget."

But then everything is gone.

When she wakes, she doesn't remember.


	13. Chapter 13

**Then**

"_my heart in my throat."_

Peter Pan has never loved anyone or anything. He believes he never will.

* * *

**After**

It's begun to snow in Neverland, in the perpetual land of summer. It's furiously cold, frozen. It is a world of destruction. Peter doesn't feel it. He doesn't care. All he knows is that he's ruined the best thing he'd ever had, will ever have. He doesn't care what happens now.

He'd always thought it was easier to refuse to pin things down, to never acknowledge affection, to be free and wild, but he was wrong. Because it hadn't stopped him from feeling things, it had only made him too blind to handle his own feelings.

It's over now.  
Everything is over.


	14. Chapter 14

**Then**

"_I won't say a word, but I think he knows..."_

She dreams of flying. She dreams of Peter.

* * *

**After**

Wendy's the mystery girl and she hates it. She's the girl who'd disappeared one night and reappeared several later with no recollection of where she'd been. Everyone had asked, tried to bring back her memories, but as hard as she searches, she can find nothing to explain the disappearance. She's just a normal girl. Nothing strange or exciting ever happens to her.

She spends more and more time at social events, more time with William, who is everything she's ever wanted, and yet somehow... just William. Still, Wendy isn't stupid. She knows William is perfectly eligible, more than, even. She knows where all this is going. Her mother is thrilled and Wendy pretends to be too. Despite it all, she feels lost and she doesn't know why.

No one but Wendy is surprised when William proposes. She doesn't know why it catches her off guard, since that's where all of it had been going all along, but it does. She feels nothing, a strange sense of numb, but looking at all the faces, the approval, all she can do is nod "yes".

The ring feels strange and heavy on her finger, wrong, somehow. She keeps quiet. There must be something wrong with her, to feel this way. She and William will be happy together, everyone says so. Her mother is practically glowing with delight.

Still, Wendy is sleeping less and less these days. She's having trouble eating. Her mood is noticeable, though she tries to mask it. Her mother laughs that if she didn't know better, she'd say Wendy had a broken heart. They both know that can't be it.

At night, when Wendy can't sleep, she sits with her window open, waiting. She doesn't know what she's waiting for, only that she is.


	15. Chapter 15

**Then**

"_that I've hardly slept,"_

Wendy Darling is the thing he was never supposed to miss.

* * *

**After**

Days are nothing. Cold is nothing. Everywhere is nothing. He is nothing.

She haunts him. A beautiful, lost ghost. He sees her, asleep or awake, it doesn't matter. He sees her, and he doesn't see her at all. She is a phantom, a shadow, horribly insubstantial. He closes his eyes and pretends until he can't bear it any longer. He has to see her.


	16. Chapter 16

**Then**

"_since the night he left. His body always kept mine inside of it."_

She sometimes thinks he must have forgotten her. She toys with her necklace and tries to decide if she should forget him.

* * *

**After**

She spends more and more time at the window. She stops attending social events. Her mother plans the wedding. She doesn't partake. It's too much. It makes her feel more empty. She's broken and she doesn't know why. She doesn't understand what she lost. But it must be something to feel like this.

She drifts to sleep at her window and wakes to find a young man blinking back. For a moment, all she can feel is surprise. Somehow, there's a young man on the ledge outside her window. Her next instinct is to scream, but something holds it back. He's a strange young man, dressed horribly inappropriately, and yet... there's something about him. Something that keeps her frozen, staring.

He has one of his hands pressed flat against the glass separating them. She feels as if someone other than her is in control of her body as she raises her hand to press against the glass opposite his. She stares at the image of their hands, confusion and something else warring inside her.

He's watching her with beautiful, sad eyes.

"Wendy." His voice is muffled through the glass, but she hears him say her name, all the same. Before she even has a chance to wonder how he knows it, she's hearing something else, something half forgotten. _"I was wrong. I __**do**__ love you, Wendy. And I'll never forget." _

"Peter." The word tumbles from her mouth without her thinking about it, without her knowing where it comes from, but even as she says it, it's all rushing back in, like breathing for the first time in ages. She remembers.


	17. Chapter 17

**Then**

"_Keep the nightmares out. Give me mouth to mouth."_

There is only one place that has ever felt right to him. With her.

* * *

**After**

He doesn't know how he got inside the window. He doesn't know how she remembered. All he knows is that he's kissing Wendy and she's kissing him back. All he knows is that he is hers and she is his and that was the only way it could ever be, for both of them.


	18. Chapter 18

**After**

"_I can't live without you, take me to your house."_

She knows, logically, lying here with Peter, that anyone could come across them. The maid who will be making the fire will be in soon. Her mother might come check on her. There are any number of possibilities. All of them end with her utterly ruined. She does not care one bit.

Here, skin to skin with Peter, that's where this has all been leading for years. She could never have been happy any other way. She does not feel ruined. She's been ruined, before. Now, she feels whole. For the first time since she met him, Wendy feels content.

Peter's fingers run lazily over the bare skin at her side, her hip. Wendy presses herself closer and dares to believe it's real.


	19. Chapter 19

**After**

"_But I thought you might..."_

Peter Pan is in love. He has been in love since the night he first laid eyes on Wendy. Now, he watches her, slipping on clothing, fixing her hair. She is beautiful. She is his. He goes to her then, tugging her hand and pulling her towards the window. They pause at the edge, looking at each other. Just looking.

"Come away with me?" He whispers.


	20. Chapter 20

**After**

"_take me home."_

Love is a tricky thing. It doesn't always happen the way you think it will. It doesn't always happen quickly, or at the right time. Wendy Darling knows this very well. Love is a fickle thing. It refuses to be pinned down. It just is. Love is something that, even now, she is not sure she could explain. What Wendy does know, what she has known since she and Peter had found each other again, is that home is where you are loved. Home is with Peter. Home is Neverland.


End file.
